What Did I Do To Deserve This?
by Priestess Aishisu
Summary: Everybody thinks Numbuh 86 is just a brat with a bad attitude. No one realized she was carrying the weight of a world...1x86 Based on Jacqueline Wilson's The Illustrated Mum.
1. Cross

Priestess Aishisu: I deleted this fanfiction due to not writing a disclaimer and getting flamed for it, but I now have written one.

By the way, they're thirteen and have been decommissioned, but Numbuhs 1**–**5 are still friends and Nigel still knows Francine since they live right next door to each other (even though the tree house is gone.)

Marigold=Francine and David's mom, a manic**-**depressive

Francine=Numbuh 86, no longer a part of the Kids Next Door and without memories, though she still knows Nigel and the others. Her memories were altered, there weren't big blanks or anything.

David=Francine's ten**-**year**-**old brother

Nigel=Numbuh One

Hoagie=Numbuh Two

Kuki=Numbuh Three

Wallabee=Numbuh Four

Abigail=Numbuh Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Codename: Kids Next Door or any of the characters. Marigold belongs to Jacqueline Wilson, writer of The Illustrated Mum. Actually, a lot of this story belongs to her. Francine and Numbuhs 1**–**5 belong to Mr. Warburton.

* * *

Marigold started going weird again on her birthday. Francine remembered that she often would on birthdays, so she and David tried extra hard. Francine made a beautiful card cut in the shape of a marigold, using up all the ink in the orange felt tip. She did two sparkly silver threes in her special glitter pen and added '_Happy Birthday'_ in her best calligraphy. They did calligraphy in Eighth Grade and she was very good at it.

David was still ten and useless at any writing, so he drew a picture of the things Marigold liked best. In the middle he drew himself and Francine. He also drew the Rainbow Tattoo Studio and the Nightbirds Club. Then he added a CD player with lots of Emerald City and some high heels and a bikini and jeans and lots of rings and bangles and earrings. He was getting stuck for ideas by this time and he'd erased so much it was getting furry so he colored it in. He wanted to do marigolds at the border, but Francine had used up the orange so he turned them into roses and colored them red. Red roses symbolized love, and he hoped Marigold would understand.

They got presents as well. Francine found a remixed version of Emerald City's greatest hits for only $12, and David got her a sparkly green hairclip to match her eyes. They even bought a special sheet of green tissue paper and a green satin ribbon to wrap up the presents.

Marigold gave them both big hugs and said they were darlings but her emerald eyes filled with tears.

"Why are you crying?" David asked as Marigold ruffled his brown hair.

"She's crying because she's happy," Francine replied in her Irish accented voice, but she sounded angry. She **was** angry, but she hid it. She had no choice, after all. "Aren't you, Mom?"

"Mm," replied Marigold. She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was shaking, but she managed a smile. "There, Dave. I've stopped crying, all right?"

David smiled, but Francine knew it wasn't all right. Marigold cried when she heard the Emerald City remix because she said it reminded her of old times. She cried when Francine and David helped her put up her long red hair with the green clasp.

"Look at my neck! It's getting all wrinkly" she cried, touching the taut white skin. Francine was angry, but hid it. "I look so **old,"** Marigold continued while Francine resisted the urge to punch somebody.

"You're not old, you're young," Francine said, and David nodded his agreement.

"I'm thirty**-**three," replied Marigold glumly. "I wish you hadn't written that right smack bang in the middle of your card, darling. I can't believe I'm thirty**-**three."

"Look at David's card," said Francine sharply, feeling her fists clench.

"Oh? Oh, yes, darling, it's lovely," said Marigold, hardly glancing at it as she said this. She picked it up and blinked at it, then at David. "What's it meant to be?"

"It's stupid," David said sadly. "It's a mess."

"It's all the things you like best," Francine said quickly. Her insides felt as if they were seething and bubbling with rage. She bit back a shriek of pure fury.

"It's beautiful," said Marigold, staring at it. Then she started crying again.

"Mom!" cried Francine angrily.

"I'm sorry. It just makes me feel so awful. Look at the pub and the high heels and the sexy tops. These aren't mumsie things. David should have drawn...I don't know...a pretty dress and...and a kitten. That's what mothers like."

"That isn't what you like and you're my mother," David pointed out.

"David spent ages making you that card." Francine's statement was practically a snarl. Her outrage was now evident on her face, and her gray**-**green eyes were narrow.

"I know, I know. It's lovely. I _said._ **I'm** the hopeless cause. Don't you understand?" Marigold sniffed again. "Anyway, let's have breakfast. Hey, can I have my cake now? Birthday cake for breakfast! Great idea, right, girls?"

They stared at her.

"We didn't get you a cake," said Francine, now unbearably frustrated. "You _know_ we didn't. We asked and you said a cake was the very last thing you wanted, remember?"

"No." Marigold's expression was blank. She had went on and on about how they mustn't get her a cake because she was sure she was starting to put on weight and the icing would only give her a toothache and anyway she didn't even _like_ birthday cake.

"I love birthday cake. You know how much it means to me because I never had a proper party or a special cake when I was a kid. I hate it when you girls don't want to have proper parties and you just want to go to stupid places like McDonalds."

"All right, all right, I'll get you the birthday cake," Francine said, already grabbing the purse. "The cake shop opens early on Sunday." _Anything to get out of this house._

"She's cross with me," said Marigold when Francine hurried out, slamming the door behind her.

"No, she isn't. She's getting your cake, that's all." David said quickly, though he didn't doubt that his elder sister **was** cross. Then again, she was often cross.

"Cross, cross, cross," muttered Marigold, frowning and apparently ignoring David. "That's what they used to say in foster homes. 'I'm very cross with you, Marigold.' This one old bat would bring her face right up close to mine until her eyes were so near they crossed too. 'Cross, cross, cross,' is what she'd say, and her spit would spray my face. She was a real bitch, that one. She never hit us, knew she wasn't allowed, but you could tell she wanted to. Really, really wanted to. She just **said** stuff. Cross, cross, cross."

"Mom..." David had no idea what to else say. He was always a bit afraid when Marigold would speak like that, muttering fast and playing around with words. He wished Francine would hurry back."

"Just words. Cross words!"

David giggled in case Marigold meant it as a joke. Marigold seemed startled. "We have crosswords at school," explained Oliver quickly. "I can't do them. I'm hopeless at spelling and stuff.

"So am I," said Marigold with a nod. "I hated school. I was always getting myself into trouble."

"Yeah. Same here." David replied, hoping that Marigold was feeling better now. He was ravenous. He found some frosted flakes, and ate a handful dry to keep him going. Marigold helped herself as well.

"I wish Francine would hurry up," David remarked. To his surprise, Marigold burst into tears again. "Don't cry, Mom," he pleaded. "Your eyes will get red."

"Red eyes, ropey neck, maudlin mood. I'm such a mess, aren't I? What have I got to show for thirty**-**three years? Aside from two lovely children. I always thought I had so much potential and yet I haven't done anything with my life."

"You do bunches and bunches of stuff. You paint and you write storied and you design beautiful outfits and you dance and you work at the studio and**—**and**—**"

Again ignoring David, Marigold continued glumly, "If I don't do something with my life soon I never will. I'm getting old so quickly. Come here, Dave."

She wrapped her slender arms around him, her bangles jingling. He nestled against her, breathing in her magical musky smell. Her silky red hair tickled his nose and he stroked it, letting it fan out through his fingers.

"I feel like I'm at a crossroads, Dave," Marigold sighed. Then her eyes, the deep green of summer meadows, lit up. "Cross. Hey, Dave, what if I get a cross tattoo?"

"You don't really have that much space yet," David remarked, rubbing her decorated arms.

Marigold examined herself, peering this way and that. "How about right here, across my elbow? Brilliant! I need a piece of paper." She used the back of David's birthday card, but he didn't really mind. She sketched rapidly, biting her lower lip as she focused. David peered over her shoulder and sighed wistfully at her talent.

Her hand was shaking, but the pen line was graceful and sinuous as she made an elegant Celtic cross with roses and ivy twining around it. "Roses," she said, glancing up from the finished piece. "Like on your card, Dave."

David felt immensely proud, but also worried. He knew what Francine would say. "It's a lovely picture. Couldn't you just keep it on paper? We could get a special frame for it and you could hang it over your bed.

"I want it to be a picture on _me,"_ Marigold replied, her eyes glittering emerald. "I wonder if Steve has any early appointments. I can't wait! I'll get him to trace it and do it now. Special birthday present!" She leapt up.

"But Fanny's getting your birthday cake!"

"Oh!" Marigold screwed her beautiful face up in disappointment. "Oh yes. Well, come **on,** Fanny. Where's she got to? Why did she have to get this cake?"

This was so unfair of Marigold that David couldn't even bear to meet her eyes. It was terrible when she would twist everything up in her head. She always did it when she was in a state. David knew that he should tell Marigold she wasn't being fair to Francine, but he couldn't make himself. It was so special being Marigold and him.

* * *

Francine grumbled. The line had been ages. Marigold probably wouldn't even want the cake when she got back. Why did she have to have the worst life ever?

"What are **you** doing here?" Francine turned in surprise to see a bald boy with blue eyes hidden by sunglasses and scowled. It was her next**-**door neighbor Nigel Uno. As if she didn't have enough problems already.

"I could ask you the same thing, **Nigel."**

Nigel frowned. She always had a hatred, a disdain when she said his voice. He didn't really understand why she disliked him so much, but he didn't really like her either. "My mom had a promotion, so Dad and I are picking out a cake for her." He pointed to his father. "Now answer my question. I don't see how you could like cake, seeing as how there's nothing sweet about you."

Francine's teeth ground, and her eyes flashed angrily. "Shut up, you stupid boy." Without thinking, she swung the box with the cake around with all her might.

It struck Nigel hard in the stomach and he stumbled back, crashing into a shelf of muffins. Heads turned as the shelf toppled backwards. Francine turned and ran.

* * *

When Francine finally returned to the house, carefully balancing the box containing the cake in her upturned hands, Marigold had to make an extreme effort.

"Fanny, dear! You've been such a time, sweetie!"

"Sorry. There were heaps of people, and some of them were quite...unpleasant." She wrinkled her nose, eyes flashing angrily, and David wondered what had happened. "I didn't know whether to get the fruit or sponge cake, and I decided to get the sponge because it was cheaper...but maybe you'd prefer fruit?"

"Whichever," Marigold replied uncaringly. "Come on then, let's just eat." She was already pulling it from the box, not even bothering to get a plate. She rummaged through the drawer for a knife.

"Make a wish!" said David. Marigold shut her eyes and her lips moved slightly. Then she started hacking away at the cake and gulping her slice so quickly she sprayed crumbs everywhere.

"What's the big hurry?" asked Francine, and David stopped eating. The cake suddenly felt very dry, a thick lump in his throat which he couldn't get rid of.

"I'm going to try to catch Steve early, before he has any customers," Marigold replied, not noticing David's apprehension. "I've just designed the most amazing symbolic tattoo."

"No!" cried Francine, rising to her feet. "Not another one!"

"But this is such a beautiful design, my darling. It's a cross, you see, because I'm at a crossroads. Look at it, Fanny!" Marigold waved the exquisite design.

"You've spoilt Dave's birthday card," Francine accused.

"No she hasn't," David interjected quickly. "I like the design, it's beautiful!" But for the third time that day not a single person even seemed to hear him.

"You said that it was sick and pitiful getting yourself tattooed again and again! You said that you would save up for laser treatment to get them removed! You **said."** Francine's voice was rising.

"I said a whole load of stuff just to keep you happy, my darling. But I love my tattoos, you know that. They're all so special to me. They make me _feel_ special."

"Well, they make you **look** like a circus freak," snapped Francine.

There was a sudden silence. They stared at each other in disbelief and embarrassment, unable to believe what Francine had just said. Even Francine seemed astounded.

"All right, so I'm a freak," Marigold replied shakily. "I don't care. I don't have to conform to your narrow view of society, Fanny. I've always lived my life on the outside edge."

"Now you're sounding like some cheesy old film. Why can't you just be _ordinary?"_

"I've never been ordinary in my life," Marigold replied truthfully. "I don't _want_ to be ordinary. I can't figure out why you do. What's the matter with you, Fanny?"

"Maybe I'm growing up. When are you going to grow up?" Francine seized her slice of cake and crumpled it, then she brushed the crumbs from her hand and ran into her bedroom.

* * *

A few hours later she came out, being certain that they were gone. She turned on the television and didn't speak to them when they came back, though she screwed her face in disgust when she saw Marigold's bandage.

They had the rest of the birthday cake for lunch. Marigold had bought wine for herself and juice for Oliver and Francine. "So we can all drink to the birthday girl," she said brightly.

She finished the entire body in less than half an hour and went to her room, saying she was sleeping. Francine wouldn't speak to Oliver so they both watched television. After a few hours, Oliver went to Marigold's room.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, fine, never finer!" sang Marigold, exiting the room. She was dressed in her shortest skirt and her highest heels, a black chenille sweater hiding her bandage.

"You're going out," Francine said flatly.

"Of course I am, darling," replied Marigold, smiling at Francine. Her eyes were outlined in black so they were bigger and greener than ever. "I have to celebrate my birthday.

Francine sighed heavily.

"Oh, don't be like that. I'm just nipping down to a pub. I'll be back in a couple hours, I promise." No reply. "I _promise."_ She touched her arm gingerly. "I'm at the crossroads. I'm going to turn the right way this time. You'll see. I'll be back by ten. Half past ten at the latest."

* * *

They stayed up until midnight. Then they gave up and fell asleep.


	2. Kiss

Priestess Aishisu: I got reviewed? I was surprised too. Most people don't seem to like Numbuh 86 that much. But maybe the pairing isn't as unpopular as I thought! On the other hand, it was only one person...ah, well.

**Kawaii34girl: Aw. I like ur idea of Francine's home life. Yeah. GO 1/86! Me and 3 friends got the idea for this couple on a crazy RP thread at an AWESOME KND forum, and we've been waiting like crazy for somone to do it in a fic **

**I can't wait for an up-date**

**Kawaii34Girl  
...because 3/4 r cute.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Thanks. I'm updating now, right? By the way, I think ¾ is cute too! Could you tell your three friends I wrote this? I would like to be reviewed more._

* * *

David woke up too early. It wasn't properly light yet. His heart immediately started thudding. He didn't understand why he felt so frightened. Then he remembered.

"Fanny!" he whispered, opening the door to Francine's room and entering. "Fanny, please wake up. It's morning. Nearly. Do you think that Mom's back yet?"

"You go check," Francine replied from under the covers.

David was afraid to check. Afraid that she might be in a state. Afraid that she might have somebody with her. Afraid that she might have not returned at all.

"You check, Fanny," he begged. "You're the oldest."

"I'm sick of being the oldest," she hissed into the pillow. "I'm sick of being the one who has to try the hardest all the time. I'm sick sick sick of it." Her accented voice was thick, as if she was crying.

"All right, all right, I'll check," muttered David, backing out of the room. His heart was like a little fist in his chest, punching and punching. "Don't be stupid," he whispered in Francine's voice. "She'll be back. She'll be in bed fast asleep. Just _check."_

He crept towards Marigold's room and paused in front of her open door. Had it been open or shut last night? He couldn't remember. He could see the edge of the bed but no mound under it, nothing sticking out from beneath the sheet.

"She'll be curled up in a ball with her legs tucked up. That's why you can't see her," he whispered, still mimicking Francine. "She always sleeps like that. Go and **check."**

In spite of this, David remained frozen in space for more than a minute. Then he whispered her name. When there was no reply, he stepped into her room. It was empty. He could tell that it was empty with his first glance. Nevertheless, he pulled the covers back. He even lifted the pillow, as if she might be curled so small she could be hiding underneath. He searched under the bed and felt for her with his hands. Nothing. David rolled little dust bunnies with his fingertips, wondering what on earth he could do next.

He searched the bathroom and found nothing whatsoever. He then entered the kitchen to see if she could be there, conjuring up the craziest image of Marigold making toast hours early for breakfast. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that the kitchen was empty.

He returned to Francine's room. She was still lying under the covers but David could tell by the sound of her breathing that she was wide awake and listening.

"She isn't here," David said quietly. Francine sat up strait, her sharp eyes wide. David heard her swallow. He could almost hear the buzz of her thoughts.

"Check the bathroom."

"I did. I searched the entire house. She isn't there."

"What time is it?"

"Half past five."

"Oh." Francine sounded frightened now. "Well." She swallowed, but her throat felt dry. She licked her lips. They also felt dry. "Maybe...Maybe she isn't planning on getting back until breakfast."

"Fanny...what if she doesn't get back at all?"

"She will."

"But what if something bad happens to her?"

**"She's** the one who does the bad things," Francine replied, sounding angry now, but she ruffled David's light brown hair like Marigold ould sometimes. "She'll be all right. She probably just met some guy."

"But she wouldn't stay out all night long."

"She has though, hasn't she?" Francine replied, getting out of bed. "Get back to sleep. I won't be able to, so I'll just study. I want to finish this project as soon as I can. I have the stupidest partner..." she scowled and shook her head. "Sleep," she ordered.

"She _is_ all right, isn't she?" asked David, already exiting.

"She's all wrong, wrong, wrong," snapped Francine, opening one of her books. "But she'll be back any minute now, you'll see. You get back to bed and then you'll wake up and the first thing you'll hear is Marigold singing one of her stupid songs, right?"

* * *

It started getting lighter, and Francine frowned apprehensively. Marigold still wasn't back. She glanced down at her book. Her first two periods were Humanities, and with her luck she would have to sit right next to Nigel Uno. There was a special project where you pair up with the person next to you and study some mental illness. The one they had was called 'manic depression.' Whatever that was.

Something creaked and she jumped. But then she heard the boiler in the kitchen. It was just the hot water system turning itself on. 6:15. Her bus would come in thirty minutes, but she couldn't leave David.

She searched the entire house, even though she knew she wouldn't find anybody. She then gave up and decided to take a bath.

The warm water was heaven against her chilled body, and she was quite a while**—**especially since she spent a while to wash her hair. When she exited, rubbing herself with a towel, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirrors.

She looked quite different from when she had been ten. She was taller, and had grown willowy and quite beautiful. Her skin was clear white and her hair reached her waist. And of course she had grown in...places that females did. She touched her hip with puzzlement.

Every time she saw her hip, she was puzzled. There was a tattoo there, a graceful sinuous Celtic 86. She didn't remember getting it, and had no idea why she would want the number 86 tattooed on her. Marigold didn't know about it, and neither did David. No one did but her**—**she didn't exactly display her hip to the public.

Francine sighed and shrugged. She didn't have time to worry about this. She put on a green tee and an orange skirt, brushing her hair and tucking it behind her ears. She had just put on her brown loafers when she realized that David would be scared. Ripping a piece of paper from her notebook, she wrote '_I'm at school. Be back soon. Don't tell anybody about Mom.'_

Then she ran outside.

* * *

Nigel didn't say a word when Francine sat down, he didn't even glance up. His head was bent and he glared at the desk, his lovely cerulean eyes visible since his sunglasses had cracked when she pushed him. Fine with her. If he wanted to ignore her, she wasn't complaining.

They had to go to the library again. Francine and Nigel both read their books and took notes and still didn't speak. Francine drew a picture of Marigold's marigold tattoo, with its full head and pointed leaves and swirling stem. She couldn't focus on the picture. She kept thinking about the flat and how it might be empty when she got home.

Suddenly Nigel lifted his head and hissed "What is the matter with you?" just loudly enough for her to hear and no one else. Francine's head snapped up.

"What's that supposed to mean, you stupid boy?" she hissed, giving him her fiercest glare.

It didn't work. His eyes narrowed angrily and he continued, "Why are you such a bitch? I never did anything to you! And it isn't just me! I swear you have something against the entire world! What did anybody ever do to you? It isn't as if your life is unhappy, I mean you have like the coolest mom in the world**—**"

Francine clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms until they drew blood. She pinched her eyes shut and snarled, "Shut up, shut up, shut up." Tears squeezed from under her eyelids and she heard Nigel gasp.

"Are you **crying?!"** he cried in disbelief.

"Shut up!" she shouted, drawing stares. "Just shut up! I hate you!" The bell for the end of class rang, and Francine jumped to her feet and ran out of class.

* * *

Francine sighed in a mixture of pain and sadness as she shut her locker, and groaned when she saw Nigel was standing there, watching her intensely. "Are you ever going to leave me alone?"

He didn't reply, but lifted his hand. She flinched slightly, but to her surprise he didn't hit her. Instead, he caught a tear running down her cheek with his finger and held it up so she could see. "You **were** crying," he said softly, but he didn't sound angry. In fact, he sounded worried. His eyes were earnest and sincere. "Why?"

Francine opened her mouth, to yell or lie, but to her surprise what came out was the truth. "It's my mom. Yesterday was her birthday and she kept crying and acting weird, and she then got another tattoo. Then she got drunk and went out partying all night. She didn't come home yesterday and I'm scared." She started shuddering. "Listen, I have to get to Science class. Bye."

She turned and ran away from him for the second time, unable to forget the expression on his face.

* * *

She was back. Francine smelled her as soon as they entered, and she was sure David did as well. Marigold's sweet strong musky scent. Even if she were wandering around the house stark naked Francine was sure she would still spray herself from head to toe with her special perfume. And she noticed another smell as well. The kitchen was exuding the strangest homely mouth**-**watering smell.

David sprinted into the kitchen. Sure enough, Marigold was standing at the table. She was smiling, kneading dough. David was so happy to see her this didn't even strike her as unusual.

They threw their arms around each other. Marigold's slim arms were strong, even though she kept her hands stuck out away from him. She was wearing part of the dough like gloves.

"Oh, Mom," David murmured, laying his head on her bare shoulder and weeping quietly. The delicate marigold tattoo peeped out from the strap of her tank top, elegantly outlined in black.

"Hey, you're watering my flower!" Marigold took a towel between her doughy fingers and dabbed at his face. "Don't cry, little Dave. What's the matter with you?"

"What do you think the matter is with him?" snarled Francine, standing in the kitchen door. "He was scared silly because you stayed out all night partying."

"Still, she's back now," interjected David quickly, mentally begging Francine not to ruin it.

Francine was staring at Marigold, jaw set and eyes narrowed. "Where did all that cooking stuff come from?" she asked, pointing at the baking trays and mixing bowls and rolling pins. The entire kitchen was littered with bags of flour and icing sugar and lots of little glinting bottles, like some magical cake factory.

"Oh, I just wanted to make you kids some cookies," Marigold replied airily, already kneading again. "There, I think that's absolutely right now. The first batch I made went lumpy so I had to chuck them out. And the second batch were just a teeny bit burnt. They have to be perfect. Nothing but the best for my wonderful children."

Francine's eyes were dark, but Marigold didn't seem to notice. "I'm making you both angel cookies," she explained, rolling out the dough and sculpting it into shape. Her slender fingers were long and skillful, working so quickly she seemed to be conjuring up angels out of thin air. "What do you want your angel to be like?"

"I'm not a little kid. How can you **do** this?" Francine burst out. "You go off, you stay out all night, you don't even make it home for breakfast, you practically crucify Dave all day long at school. And then you bob up again without even an apology, let alone a word of explanation. And you act like you're Mega**-**Mother of the Year making these lousy cookies. Well, count me out. You can have my cookie. And I hope it chokes you."

* * *

Francine's head was bent, her hair hiding her eyes as she read. The symptoms reminded her eerily of Marigold. Wouldn't it be funny if she **were** a manic depressive? At this point, it wouldn't surprise her.

"Why are you doing homework on the rail of your porch?"

Francine's head snapped around and she glared at Nigel. "Am I ever going to get rid of you? At this rate we'll be roommates in college if you ever graduate."

"Hah**-**hah, very funny," he replied in his British accented voice, but he didn't sound angry. His concerned expression made her want to punch him in the face. "Is your mom home?"

"Yes," replied Francine, turning away from him, her voice a hiss. "She's in the kitchen making a million pounds of cookies and not even seeming to remember staying out all night. She's insane."

"Is she?" Nigel asked, sounding truly curious. He sat on the rail next to her, and she glared at him. It was a fierce glare, but somehow he knew it was fake.

"Go away," he hissed.

"Make me," he retorted, unafraid.

Francine sighed, again staring down at her book. Her fists clenched, her nails digging into the wounds from that morning until fresh blood dribbled from the cuts. "What do you want?"

"Stop that," he said, grabbing her wrists and trying to pull her fingers from her palm. Suddenly their palms were aligned, and they were staring into each other's eyes and neither uttered a word.

Francine stared at him questioningly, then suddenly realized to her horror that she was subconsciously moving forward and that he was moving forward as well.

Then without warning they were kissing, their lips pressed together. Both their minds screamed at them to pull away, but their bodies and hearts had other ideas.

When they finally pulled away, both were blushing and breathing heavily. "I**–**I have to go," Francine stuttered finally, her usually pale cheeks bright scarlet.

"M**–**Me too. I**–**I have homework."

They both sprinted into their houses quickly, both finally understanding the meaning of an 'emotional rollercoaster.'


	3. Crush

Priestess Aishisu: Yippee! Reviews!

**strawberry lover!!!: I loved the story by Jacqueline Wilson and I like how you altered it. Of course, I'm still getting used to the idea of 1 and 86 because I've always been a fan of 1/5 but its a kewl start. Keep it flowing!!**

** StRaWbErRy LoVeR **

_Priestess Aishisu: I've always been a fan of 1/5 too, but if I put Numbuh 362 and Chad and Cree and all of them with somebody, I should put Numbuh 86 with somebody too. Right?_

**Sammeh Teh CheeseCake**: **Very loud annoying fangirl scream AH! I love this fanfic, the very first 1/86 one! I worship you! They kissed! AH! OMG! OMG! OMG!**

**Are you trying to kill me?! I love this! PLEASE keep it up! Glomps you.**

**Sammeh (Teh Biggest 1/86 Fan)**

_Priestess Aishisu: (Pushes you with a stick) Back! Back! Are you off? All right. Thanks for reviewing! I hope you write a 1/86 fanfiction soon, it's depressing being the only one._

**Princess Rusty: Aishisu, YOU ROCK!   
I love the fluffiness! I sort of thought that 86 should be with someone, and I went over the list of all the boys. I figured that only numbah one made even the least bit of sense.  
That's how much time I have to kill.  
C-ya at the next chapter! Princess Rusty**

_Priestess Aishisu: I have time to kill, too. And I agree, Numbuh One is the only boy that could make sense for her. I like 1/5 and all, but I'm now quite certain that Numbuh Five is officially with Numbuh Two._

**WolfBane2: (protests) It was not a flame! It was a angry threat! There's a difference! **

**But I like the 1/86 parts. They'd make such a weird pair it's entertaining.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Right...either way it's bad. Yeah, I agree about the 1/86 being so weird it's entertaining. I mean, he **is** the only guy that would make the least bit of sense for her..._

**Kawaii34Girl: Tee Hee Hee **

**I LOVE it! I REALLY hope u up-date 2morrow!**

**If not then... uh... ;;**

**Sammeh Teh CheeseCake is one of the people in the RP, wahoo! **

**Kawaii34Girl  
...because 3/4 AND 1/86 r cute.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, I guessed that she was. I usually update the day after, but since I have Three fanfictions to work on and my mom is out of town and she's the one who owns the computer and she smashed mine against the stove when she was mad...you didn't need to know that._

Priestess Aishisu: Anyway, this starts from back in the kitchen while Francine was out on the porch, then goes back to afterwards.

* * *

Francine stormed off to her bedroom and slammed the door. The kitchen was suddenly silent. David knew Francine was right. He knew he should go after her. He knew by the gleam in Marigold's eyes and the kitchen clutter that Marigold wasn't all right at all. This was the start of one of her phases**—**but she was back, and he didn't want to ruin it.****

"Fanny wants a cookie, really," he said quietly, wishing she would cheer up and return to the kitchen. He didn't know how to deal with Marigold when she was in one of her phases. Francine would always deal with that.

"Of course she does," Marigold replied, though she seemed uncertain. "We'll make her a lovely angel, just like yours. And seeing as how she's so mad at me we'll make _my_ cookie a **fallen** angel. You know, a little devil. With horns and a tail and everything. Do you think that will make her laugh, Dave?"

"You bet," David replied, though he sincerely doubted it.

"You weren't **really** worried, were you, little Dave?" She frowned slightly. "Maybe I should have phoned," she murmured, shaking her head. "Why didn't I phone?"

David nibbled the cookie dough, not wanting to reply. He could just imagine what Francine would say. "Where were you?" he asked, so quietly she could pretend she hadn't heard if she wanted.

"Well..." Marigold paused, as if thinking. "I popped out, and then I thought I would meet up with some of the gang. And then there was this big party." She giggled, a little sheepishly. "You know how I like a party." She had started to do the fallen angel now, her slender fingers deft and skilled in spite of her hands shaking. "And then it got very late but I kept dancing and partying and I didn't come back to my girls and I was very bad," concluded Marigold, and she used one finger to smack the dough devil hard. "I was very, very, very bad. Bad Marigold. Take that!"

David chuckled, but Marigold seemed to pick up on his uncertainty and stared at him with her big emerald eyes. "Do you think I'm bad, my little David?"

"I think you're the most magical mother in the entire universe," he replied, truthfully and passionately. He dodged the actual question due to lack of answer.

The cookies were real works of art. The angels had elaborate hairstyles and long slender limbs. Marigold had made each feather on each wing exquisite. David ate his so quickly he burned his tongue, but it was delicious. Marigold was a terrific cook.

"All right," said Marigold happily, seeming to have forgotten about Francine (David was glad, he was certain she wouldn't eat the cookie). "We'll start on the cakes now."

David blinked uncertainly. "Cakes?"

"Yes, I want to make all sorts of cakes." Marigold replied, her eyes glittering green. "Angel cake and Devil cake, cheesecake and carrot cake and doughnuts and éclairs and every other cake you can think of." She licked her lips, obviously in another of her phases. Her eyes glittered so brightly they seemed to be green fireworks.

"But**—**" David started to protest, but Marigold cut him off.

"You like cakes, don't you?" she asked. It was impossible to read her voice or expression. Her eyes seemed to glow like emeralds, and David tried again timidly.

"Well, yes, I love cakes, it's just**—**"

"We'll make cakes," Marigold said, seeming to ignore his last two words. She got a new mixing bowl and David sighed. It would be useless to argue with her now.

So he helped her make cakes, and then decided to take a chance and brought a thick wedge of cheesecake (Francine's favorite type of cake) into Francine's bedroom. By now the big kiss thing had already happened, and Francine was sitting on her bed studying.

"Do you want have some?" David offered, holding it out to her. "I've had heaps already."

"I thought she'd baked cookies," Francine replied, accepting the large piece of cheesecake and eyeing it suspiciously. "She must have spent a fortune on all that kitchen stuff."

"I know," David sighed slightly. "She shouldn't have, but it was for us."

"You really are a fully paid**-**up member of the Marigold fan club, aren't you?" Francine asked spitefully. She bit the cheesecake. It was delicious. "I don't suppose she's thought to buy any normal food?"

"Who wants normal food?" David asked as Francine finished off the slice hungrily. "This is much more fun. Hey, remember that time last summer when it was so steaming hot and Marigold told us to open up the fridge and it was simply _stuffed_ with ice cream? Wasn't that wonderful?"

"Yes I do, and we had to on stale bread and carrots for the rest of that week because she spent all the money," Francine reminded her, though she had the vaguest impression that she had gotten food from some other source which she couldn't remember. But that thought brushed against her mind, light as a feather, and vanished before she could consider it.

"Well, yeah, but it didn't matter because we also had the ice cream all week and it was lovely," replied David defiantly. "Just lovely. And anyway, you had made a game with the bread, remember? And Marigold carved the carrots. Don't you remember the totem pole? That was just brilliant. And the **rude** one!"

"And she ended up getting so hyped up and crazy she carved her thumb as well and she wouldn't even go to the hospital like a normal person would, although I suppose they could have easily sent her to an asylum. And it ended up getting all infected and she was really ill, remember, **remember?"** Francine hissed.

David had his hands on his ears since she said the word 'crazy', but Francine's voice wriggled through his fingers into his head. "Shut **up,** Fanny!" he shrieked.

Francine's eyes burned with rage and she got up. "I'm fed up eating this muck," she snarled, though she had been enjoying the cheesecake a minute ago. "I'm calling Natasha. I have things to say to her. Get out."

David scowled, but he obeyed.

* * *

"You **what?!"**

Nigel covered his ears. He hadn't remembered his friend Abigail Lincoln could yell so loudly. His four best friends (Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr., Kuki Sanban, Wallabee Beadles, and Abigail Lincoln) were staring at him as if he had just sprouted hair, and he couldn't blame them. "I kissed her," he repeated impatiently.

Wallabee's green eyes rolled to the back of his forehead and he pretended to faint. Hoagie **did** faint. Abigail glared at her boyfriend and Kuki hit hers on the head, eliciting a surprised yelp.

"Why?" asked Abigail, suddenly calm again. Her golden**-**brown eyes glimmered slightly with some unreadable emotion.

"I don't know!" Nigel cried, feeling very self**-**conscious and embarrassed. "We were just sitting so close...and our hands were touching...and I've liked her since I was five, and**—**"

"Hold up," snapped Abigail. "You've liked her since you were five, yet you're always arguing and she treats you like a slug and you treat her like a bomb. Why?"

"Well, she hates me! Listen, this is ridiculous. I'm just going to go over and tell her it was a mistake, she lives right next door, hopefully she won't hurt me **too** badly..."

"Wait," said Abigail sharply. "You don't know she hates you, she might just think you hate her. She has every reason to. Let me see if I can figure anything out."

* * *

"You. Kissed. Nigel. Uno." repeated Natasha Westward in disbelief. She was Francine's best friend, though nothing like her. She was also pale and slim, but she had very pale blonde hair like a white waterfall and eyes so dark they seemed to suck light from around them. She was much calmer than Francine, though when she got mad she was very intimidating. She hadn't changed much from when they were children, though her hair was shorter and she used to have an awful temper.

"Do you have to keep saying that?" snapped Francine, running a hand through her rippling red hair. Her sharp blue**-**green eyes flashed dangerously. "And technically, he kissed me."

"But you kissed back," Natasha reminded her.

"So what if I did?" Francine replied defensively. "You know I've had a crush on him since we were five, though I guess eight years is too long to really consider it a crush, but..."

"You're head over heels in love with him."

Francine's pale skin turned an amazing shade of cherry, but she scowled and her blush faded mercifully. "No, I don't!" she shouted in her Irish accent (yeah, I have to put in at least one reminder a chapter, in case people forget). "It's just that..." she trailed off helplessly, glancing at a bush nearby.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love him."

There was a long silence, and Francine kept her eyes on the bush as if she knew what was hiding inside. "I can't," she admitted finally, blushing hard. "But...he doesn't like me. He can't. It's just...just impossible."

She sighed. "This conversation has done nothing but severely depress me," she remarked. "I have studying to do."

Natasha nodded understandingly, an unreadable expression in her black eyes. "You should still tell him, though. I'm sure you have enough to worry about without hiding this as well."

"I can't," she replied sadly. "I just can't."


	4. Complicated

Priestess Aishisu: Yippee! Reviews!

**g: this rox,but if it turns into a romeo and juliet ending some one's dyin'**

_Priestess Aishisu: In Romeo and Juliet they **both **died. All right, I'm just acting stupid. No Romeo and Juliet ending here, ppls!___

**Princess Rusty: NO! One should NOT tell her it was a mistake! He likes her, she likes him! This reminds me of when I was playing match maker for my (ten year old) neighbor. I failed miserably, but Jazzmyn liked Magnum and Magnum liked Jazzmyn, and it was so sad!  
Well, I'm a big fan, so never stop!**

_Priestess Aishisu: I'll have to stop when the fanfiction ends!_

**strawberry lover!!!: Thats so true! LOL! Man, I havent read the book in a while now and I can just feel all the memories come back. Your character Natasha Westward reminds me of Beth from your other fic. Anyways, cool chapter. Peace!**

** StRaWbErRy LoVeR **

_Priestess Aishisu: Actually, Natasha Westward is...I can't tell you. Yet. Let's just say she isn't **exactly** an original character, but the character I based her on showed up for all of thirty seconds on the show._

**Sammeh Teh CheeseCake**:** Aw, that's so sweet! They're in lurve!**

**I can't wait 'till the next chapter.**

**And don't worry, I've been working on a 1/86 fanfic since May .**

**Sammeh (Teh Biggest 1/86 Fan)**

_Priestess Aishisu: I hope that means it will be finished soon! Or at least the first chapter put up_.

**Lacey01: I only have one thing to say about this fic...I...I...I LOVE IT! Update real soon cause...well...you should! =D  
Yay 1/86ness! loves it**

_Priestess Aishisu: Uhh...thanks._

* * *

The minute Francine sat down, Nigel knew something wasn't right. Her head was bent, her crimped red hair hiding her blue**-**green eyes. Her hands were trembling, and she didn't even seem to hear the teacher tell her off for being late. Not to mention that she had never been late before. Her beaded cardigan wasn't even buttoned right.

"Fanny?" He flinched when he said her name. That was the weirdest name ever, or nickname. But he was more worried by how pale she was. She didn't seem to hear him.

"Mister Uno, Miss Fulbright, care to tell me why you are speaking when class has already started?" the teacher asked sharply, but she was worried as well. Francine wasn't exactly the image of wellbeing.

"Um..." Nigel tried to think of a quick excuse to talk to her in private. "Fanny has a headache. She didn't eat last night and stayed up all night studying. Can I take her to the nurse?"

Francine glanced at him, startled. Then she winced because she really **hadn't **slept or eaten last night. Was he **lying?** To the teacher? Actually, neither was a lie, but _he_ couldn't possibly know that. Could he?

The teacher seemed skeptical, but **something** was obviously wrong. "All right, Mister Uno," she conceded, handing them both hall passes. "Go strait to the nurse."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her so hard she had to half**-**run just to keep her arm on.

* * *

Nigel made a sound somewhere between a relieved sigh and a frustrated groan as he slumped against the entrance of their school. "I just walked right out of school and no one even saw me," he muttered, then turned back to Francine. "What happened to you? You're a mess! Your cardigan isn't even buttoned!" He buttoned it for her, then pulled away and looked at her with real worry. "What happened, and does it have anything to do with your mom?"

Francine sighed. She didn't have the energy to fight today. "Well, you know how I was doing checklists on people I knew to see who displayed the most symptoms and...My mom fit too many. So I went on the internet and spent all night on this huge, advanced, comprehensive test made by about a gazillion psychiatrists. 95% chances are that she has it. More than a 100% are that she's officially demented. Either way..."

She couldn't continue, and tears slipped from her eyes. "Oh..." murmured Nigel. She was surprised when he hugged her, but she didn't pull away and instead wept gratefully into his shoulder. He didn't speak until she had stopped crying and wiped away her tears. "I'm sorry. I can guess how it must feel..." he stopped. He could guess, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't want to pretend.

Francine didn't seem to notice. She glared at the school. "I can't go back inside. I'll probably start crying**—**in front of people! But I can't go home, either. Not if Mom's there. What should I do?"

Nigel tried to think. He wouldn't be able to go to school either, and there seemed to be only one possible solution. Just yesterday he would never have believed he was offering this to **her** of all people, but...

"My parents both work. You can go to my house," he suggested. She raised her eyebrows, but suddenly smiled. It was her first smile for quite a time.

"All right. We'll go to your house."

* * *

"Nice place," remarked Francine, sounding stunningly calm as she removed her sneakers. "So, when will your parents get here? I don't want to get you in trouble."

Nigel lifted an eyebrow, but replied, "Relax, it's fine. They don't get home until five, and you'll have to leave by then. Are you hungry?"

* * *

When David exited school the next day, marigold was right there waiting for her. She was standing right next to the other mothers but she stuck out. Some kids blinked. Others pointed. Several whispered among themselves. Mothers stared with obvious alarm and some hostility. Fathers seemed either afraid or in awe.

For a moment it was as if he had borrowed a pair of thick glasses and was seeing Marigold clearly for the first time. He saw a vibrant**-**haired woman in a halter top and miniskirt and sandals, her clear white skin vividly tattooed. There were designs on her arms, her shoulders, her thighs. There was a daisy chain around her left ankle, with trailing fronds winding down her foot and ending with a perfect pink**-**tipped daisy. There was even a four**-**leaf clover on her right big toe.

David knew that several of the fathers had tattoos. One of the mothers was supposed to have a butterfly tattooed on her shoulder blade**—**but just a tiny one. No one had tattoos like Marigold.

She was beautiful.

She was bizarre.

She wasn't even aware that the mothers were avoiding her. She saw David and started jumping up and down, waving both arms in the air and yelling at the top of her lungs. "Dave! David, hi! Yoo**-**hoo!"

Now they weren't just staring at Marigold. They were staring at David. Feeling as if he were afire, he tried to smile at Marigold as he walked towards her. His lips seemed to get stuck on his teeth. He felt as if he were wading through syrup. "Dave, _quick!"_ Marigold shouted, and he walked faster.

Marigold wanted to go meet Francine but he talked her out of it. He didn't realize that Francine was at Nigel's house. But he was aware that Francine would die of embarrassment if any of her friends met Marigold, especially in her wound**-**up state.

So they went to a river to feed ducks cake, and couldn't find ducks. So they made a house with the cake, using icing to stick it together and buttercup curtains. How was he to know it would take that much time?

* * *

Francine sighed as she glanced at the clock. "I have to leave. David's school ended a while ago. I'm supposed to be there in less than a minute. I am so lucky we live next door to each other."

"Too bad," replied Nigel. "I never thought time could fly by when I was studying."

Francine smiled slightly, gathering up her books. "Me neither. I guess it's because I **need** to know this stuff." She said this with more than just a hint of sadness in her eyes, and Nigel felt his heart weep for her. He hoped she didn't notice his sympathy. He just happened to be one of those idiots who _liked_ being alive.

"Well, I guess I'd better leave." Nigel followed her all the way to the door, and she turned. She tilted her head, eyebrows lifted questioningly. Without thinking, he moved forward and his lips brushed against hers. It was a quick tiny kiss, but when Francine left and Nigel shut the door they were both blushing.

* * *

"Where are they?" shrieked Francine. It was half past five, and David and Marigold still weren't there. She had passed the time watching television, but she was going to lose her mind with worry if they didn't hurry up.

"Come on," she hissed, not even paying attention to the television. There were tears in her eyes again. "Come on...hurry up."

* * *

David and Marigold didn't get home until seven, and Francine didn't speak to either of them. She instead made a disgusted noise and stamped to her room. She covered her ears, but she could still hear the clink of Marigold's bottle. She was drinking again.

_I_ _should have just stayed with Nigel...what am I thinking?_ She shook her head hard. _I don't like him! Not **Nigel Uno!** I've hated him since we were five!_

_If any other guy tried to kiss you, you would slap him in the face,_ a maliciously wise part of her mind pointed out. _Nigel kissed you twice, and all you've done is blush._

_Shut up,_ she hissed mentally. She gripped her pillow and hissed, "I don't like him...I don't...I'm going to open my eyes and wake up and convince myself I don't like Ni**—Who am I kidding?!"**

She flung her pillow at the wall with all her might. "I have a better chance of convincing Mom to quit drinking." With a sigh, she reached up on her shelf and got a small honey**-**colored teddy bear with velvet padded paws. Nigel had given it to her for her sixth birthday, and she secretly slept with it every night. Settling back in bed, she muttered, "This love stuff is so complicated."

* * *

David padded out of the bedroom. He went very carefully along the hall, putting the heel of one foot in front of the other's toes so he only moved one footlength at a time.

The kitchen light was still on so he walked even more slowly towards it. Marigold was sitting at the table still dressed, her head slumped and her mouth slightly open. She still had her hand cupped around her glass, but it was empty. So was the bottle.

"Mom?" he whispered, tugging her arm gently. It was very cold. "Mom, you have to get in bed. Please.

Marigold groaned but didn't reply. Her emerald eyes were half**-**open, red and unfocused. David knew there was absolutely no point persisting, so he went and got her quilt. He wrapped it around her and patted her icy hand. "Night night, sleep tight, make sure the bugs don't bite," he whispered. Then he returned to his bed.

* * *

Nigel was also getting in bed, his feelings like soup. He was shocked and thrilled and disbelieving and anxious and guilty and...

Just for the record, he wasn't technically spying. Or he hadn't intended to. He was just trying to make sure she was all right, and there she was having as close as she would ever get to a nervous breakdown. (Eh, **_wrong!_** But he doesn't know that.) He hadn't believed Abigail, but that little outburst was enough to convince him.

_This love stuff is so complicated..._He couldn't have said it better himself.


	5. Swim

Priestess Aishisu: Six reviews...not bad, I guess, considering that they're all positive. From here on, it is no longer a real parody of the Illustrated Mum. No Micky or anything. The story takes its own route. Actually, it's been taking its own route since Chapter Two. Also, you find out who Natasha _really_ is (but it isn't made a big deal of, just one sentence, so you might have to read a few times to figure it out.****

**ThunderAnn: great story!! i luv the 1/86 thing! They have a kinda love/hate relationship thing going on. **

**Steph: just so u no...THEY DO NOT LIKE EACH OTHER! THEy DO NOT!! I REPEAT!! THEY D-**

**Me: puts duct tape on her mouth SHUT UP!! This is MY review!! MY opinion! and my opinion is this story ROX! waves 1/86 flag around**

**Steph: thinks: ur obsessed**

**me: I HEARD THAT!!**

**steph: Oo**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, I like 1/86 too. Love/hate is my favorite kind of relationship. I have to like 1/86, I'm using it!_

**Sammeh Teh CheeseCake: Aww, this is so cute. I love this fic!**

**Sammeh (Teh Biggest 1/86 Fan)**

_Priestess Aishisu: Thanks! _

**Jay Man1: Well, this story is developing very well and I am glad that I found it. Will the other KND start to play a role in this story soon or will it only center around Nigel and Fanny? I would give a longer review but there is not much more to say. Good work and good luck.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Well, it will center mostly around them, but I am having the Kids Next Door play a role starting this chapter._

**Princess Rusty: So sweet! Aww, the teddy bear!  
Keep goin'!****So said the Princess Rusty, who is a hopeless romantic and laughed at her uncle's wedding.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Thanks._

**Chacusha: I love the 1/86-ness! I think that the romance of this fic is done really well. It's so cute! To be really nitpicky, "Go strait to the nurse" should have been "Go straight to the nurse", but oh well. I really liked this chapter. Keep writing!**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, that's really nitpicky. Especially since there isn't a difference between the two._

**aahegla**: **I ABSOLUTELY love your fic! I was reading it for a while, a long while, but couldn't review (cuz of a virus, long story)... Awsome fic! I really love it! Numbuh 86 is an awsome kid to write about!   
thats me  
ahhelga  
aka Pauline**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, I have that virus problem too. Some of the best fanfictions I ever read I never managed to get around to reviewing._

Priestess Aishisu: Now, a while has gone by, and it is now summer break. And this is set in Issaquah, where I live, so that's why they're using the Issaquah Swimming Pool.

* * *

It was summer break, and Francine just had to wake up early. Her life sucked so much. It was barely light out, and Marigold would probably sleep late with a hangover. _That's what I get for waking up every day at six fifteen._ Well, she didn't like school anyway. Though she couldn't help but admit it had gotten better now that it was no longer a torture to sit next to Nigel...

Hmm...Since when had she and Nigel been friends? She had secretly had a crush on him since they were...hmm...(again)...she didn't remember, but she was fairly certain she had always treated him like she hated him. No, wait, something had happened when they were ten...But that thought vanished as quickly as it came. Somehow she felt that whatever it had been, it had just been remorse after some...ugh! Stupid memory lapses.

It would be a few hours before David's friends would arrive and she would be forced to baby**-**sit, and until then she had no way to keep herself from daydreaming about him...**no.** Just because she was in love (though she wasn't about to put it so candidly) didn't mean she would be a girl who became obsessed with a guy.

_Bit late for that, isn't it?_ Her mind asked smugly, and she scowled.

_I am **not** obsessed with Nigel Uno!_ She thought, glaring at the cerulean paint to keep her mind off the voice. Of course, this beautiful hue made her think of Nigel's eyes. They were calm and serious, intelligence gleaming in the azure depths, but at times they could shine with cheer. He was only human, after all.

It was a real shame that he tended to wear those shades all the time...Since when did she care about Nigel's eyes? The maliciously intelligent voice started jeering happily, practically singing. Her scowl deepened, and she turned over onto her belly. _All right, so **maybe** I'm obsessed with him. But he doesn't know that!_

Several months had passed since Marigold's birthday, and Francine still hadn't told Nigel how she felt. There had been a few more kisses, they had went out twice, and they even danced together once. The project had been a huge success, as they had written an essay on the effects of manic depression on a family and Francine had first**-**hand experience on this.

She didn't know where she stood with him. _Friend_ didn't seem quite right, and anything else went too far or didn't reach far enough. She knew only one thing for sure**—**she would never again hit him with a box of cake.

* * *

"You have no reason to brag, Tommy!" Said Natasha's slender blonde younger sister Sonya. She was leader of the team Tommy and David was in, the other members being Mushi and Numbuh 30C's little brother Lee. "I don't care if you know Numbuhs 1**–**5! Besides having been decommissioned, _I_'m related to Numbuh 362!"

"Yeah, well...I know her, even if we aren't relatives! Besides, she was decommissioned too! And _I_ know Numbuh Eighty**-**Six!"

David moaned. "This is so unfair. I don't even know what Numbuh Fanny **was.** Numbuh One's my next**-**door neighbor, but he and Fanny hate each other. All of you guys are on television! You've _met_ her, and I don't even know what she **looks** like because I've never seen Operation: E.N.D or F.U.G.I.T.I.V.E! I mean, Fanny only had **one line** in that Operation R.E.P**—**"

Then he had to be quiet, because Francine herself entered the room. Everybody but David gaped wordlessly at her. She blinked. "What?" They kept staring. **"What?"** she cried irritably. "Can't a girl get a glass of water without being stared at like some kind of freak?"

Lee jumped to his feet and moved with a nearly inhuman swiftness. The next thing she knew, she was standing outside the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand.

* * *

As soon as Francine was gone, the other Kids Next Door whirled on David. "You **never met her?"** Tommy sounded rather angry. "That _is_ her! And Grandma calls **Hoagie** a liar!"

"Um...actually, I don't think he lied, Tommy," said Sonya a bit timidly. Every head turned to her, and she flushed under the gazes. She could be strong and even fierce when she wanted to be, but usually she was sweet and very shy. "He said he didn't see Operations: E.N.D or F.U.G.I.T.I.V.E, and they never actually _say_ her Numbuh in Operation: R.E.P.O.R.T."

"Hey, wait a minute," said David, who had been silent thus far as he tried to figure out what they were saying. "You're telling me that Fanny**—my sister** Fanny**—**is Numbuh Eighty**-**Six?"

"_Yes!"_ the other four shrieked, and he passed out.

* * *

"Why are you doing this to me?" moaned Nigel.

"Aw, don't be so melodramatic, Nigel," snapped Abigail. "You hate the beach, so why not use the Issaquah Swimming Pool instead? Your friend finally learned to swim, not to mention free swim is only on Saturday. At least...uh..." She had forgotten again. Why did she keep having these memory lapses? "You won't get sand in your shorts?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I never got sand in my shorts before!" he replied indignantly. "I know it's a big deal that Wally **finally** learned to swim, but why do I have to be there?"

Abigail rolled her eyes and caught glimpse of something. "Well, your girlfriend's here."

Nigel scowled. "For the hundredth thousandth millionth time, Fanny is **not—**wait a minute, where?" Snickering to herself, Abigail pointed to the large pool. As she had said, Francine was there, backfloating with her eyes shut.

She had on a blue tropical-print swimsuit and sarong (to hide the 86 tattoo), and her red hair floated around her in her the water. She looked different when he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. (They were against pool policy.) Paler. When they were children, that milky skin had been sprinkled with freckles. Now it was pure white.

"Why don't you go say hi?" asked Hoagie with a smirk. Kuki and Wallabee were swimming together, so they didn't seem to notice what was happening around them.

Nigel's scowl deepened, but nevertheless he swam over to her. "Hello."

She jerked in surprise, but relaxed when she saw him and got to her feet (well, not exactly, since they were in the twelve**-**foot section) "Nigel? What are you doing here?"

He pointed to his friends. "It was here or the beach, and I **hate** the beach. You?"

Francine chuckled. She herself didn't like the beach much, mostly because it was a pain to get sand out of her hair and her sandals. And Marigold would make a huge scene if she came. "I teach swimming Monday through Friday, so I can go free from noon through five on Saturdays. I get paid at five. Not that I like it either, but why do you hate the beach so much?"

Nigel vaguely recalled something humiliating happening, but he couldn't remember it. "The beach is **boring,"** he complained. "And so is the pool! There's nothing to do!"

Francine tilted her head and smiled suddenly. "Would a race count as something to do?"

He lifted an eyebrow and studied her face as if searching for something. His interest was obvious, especially with his sunglasses off. "What did you have in mind?"

"Crawl stroke around the pool, first one to make a full lap wins. If we tie, we keep swimming until one of us reaches that end faster. But I warn you, there's a reason my mom has a dolphin tattooed on her bicep and she can't swim."

* * *

"Look at them," remarked Abigail, shaking her head. "They've been at it for at least an hour." Indeed they were, but neither Nigel not Francine seemed the least bit tired. People had crowded around, and no one was swimming except them due to people betting. They didn't even seem to realize they were being referred to as 'bald kid' and 'redhead.'

"Just give up!" Nigel taunted when he turned sideways to breathe, speaking between sucking in puffs of air. "You know I'm going to beat you anyway!"

"Fat chance! I'm not about to lose to a boy!" sneered Francine, grinning widely. They were rivals, always had been, and they seemed to thrive on each others' competition.

"Well, _I'm_ not about to lose to a **girl!"** he retorted, and they both went twice as fast. For about twenty more minutes they swam with incredible speed. Then names of teachers receiving their paychecks started being announced, and Francine's was one of them. She moaned and stopped swimming, and Nigel bulleted forward.

"Ha!" he cried triumphantly. "I win!"

Francine scowled. "That isn't fair!" She protested. "You cheated!" He stuck out his tongue and called her a sore loser. Her eyes flashed and she dunked his head under water.

When he resurfaced, coughing and spluttering, she was already walking away. "Hey!" he called after her with fake indignity. "You could have killed me!"

She threw back her head and laughed. "I should be so lucky!"

* * *

"We still have to finish that fairly," said Francine ten minutes later, causing Nigel to yelp in surprise and whirl around. She was smiling slightly, already dry, wearing a blue tank top with the sarong. "Will you be here next Saturday?"

"Yeah. How about one to five? That should be enough time, right?" Francine agreed and chuckled when kids started running to their parents and begging them to let them come next Saturday.

"You better be on time or you'll let all your fans down," he warned laughingly. "And me," she added as a less lighthearted afterthought. He smiled warmly.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Nigel promised, and watched her leave with an almost dreamy smile. To himself, he murmured, "Maybe the pool isn't so bad."


	6. Burn

Priestess Aishisu: Four reviews...hmm....that's about what I've come to expect for this fanfiction. Not bad I guess.

**ThunderAnn: great story!! YAY!! ur back with another chap!!  
  
Kitty: Steph is not here so im replacing her. But...i must say. This is a really good fic. YAY!  
FOR LOVE/Hate relasionships!! i hate lovey-dovey stuff. No action, no yelling no...um...name..calling..?  
  
TA: I agree. PLEZZE CONTINUE! 1/86 RULZ!**

_Priestess Aishisu: It's so nice to see a fellow fan. What are the chances you might write a 1/86 fanfiction?_

**Princess Rusty: Issaquah? That's where you live? I would prefer that to my town, Lynnwood. But my neighborhood has a lot of cool things to do. (Swimming in the creek, I only did that once. Playing at the school, there are pretty dragonflies. Playing with the neighbor's dogs, they cute! Umm..Nothing else, the neighbor's sometimes have parties, that's all I can think of.)  
I'm glad you didn't disappear into a black hole, I was wondering where you went. Well, anyway, I'm having fun reading your story! Karo  
So said the Princess Rusty, who is a lovely young lady.  
Karo: Thank you, Sport, you are so much better at this than your brother, King.  
Sport: bows why thank you, Princess!  
So said Sport, who is a total kiss-up and is working in the place of King, who was fired.**

_Priestess Aishisu: I didn't go anywhere, my computer was broken._

**Jay Man: Kind of sweet. Nice to know that her brother is a K.N.D. operative, will that play a role in this story as well? ( Just a yes or know will do, I don't wan't the surprise spoiled). Why haven't any of the others seen this show ( by others I mean the older decommissioned operatives?). This was a good chapter, I did notice a grammar error or two, but everybody makes mistakes. Good work.**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yes, it most definitely will. And somehow I doubt many fourteen**-**year**-**olds watch Cartoon Network (What, I'm thirteen!) Which grammar errors? I would like to correct my flaws as soon as possible._

**Sammeh Teh CheeseCake: Aw, that was adorable .  
  
And they had a few more kisses, went out twice and even danced together you say? Fangirl scream AW! That is so cute!  
  
I can't wait 'till the next chapter .**

_Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, I was going to write the _'_danced together' thing in detail, but it wouldn't have been long enough to make its own chapter and I can't make months go by in the middle of a chapter._

Priestess Aishisu: Also, I just watched Operation: G.R.A.D.U.A.T.E.S and realized Tommy isn't in the Kids Next Door anymore. Oh well, it's a fanfiction after all. Just use your imagination to figure out why he's back on the team. And pretend Operation: S.L.U.M.B.E.R never happened.

* * *

"Hi, Natasha," said Francine without glancing up from the pile of bills she was paying (a.k.a forging Marigold's signature while the real Marigold was out partying.)

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What were you, a spy in another life?" Francine had actually said this to Natasha several times, and it was true they both had the skills of spies.

Francine picked up a slice of kiwi from the plate next to her. "Want one?" she offered, and Natasha slipped a piece into her mouth. It was delicious, but a little too tart.

"Did you cut your hair again?" asked Francine, finally glancing up. The pale, highlight**-**filled waterfall had been cut into a wispy bob. The hair cut off was so long Natasha had made a braid and was using it as a belt. It was hot with her lilac tank top and miniskirt (not to mention her tan) but Francine rolled her blue**-**green eyes. "You do that too much. Highlights every month, extensions every week, gel, curls, bangs...at this rate people are going to forget you're a natural blonde! I never change _my_ hair."

"But your hair is pretty," protested Natasha. "Mine's always been ugly. And why are you paying bills? You're fourteen and you've been doing it since you were eight."

"Well, David can't forge Mum's signature," she replied, already back to trying to figure out if the offer to cut their electricity bill in half had strings attached.

"Of course he can't forge it, and he shouldn't pay bills anyway. But you shouldn't either. You aren't anybody's mom, though sometimes it seems like you might as well be."

Francine looked up sharply. "I can't imagine you came here to lecture me," she said, her curt tone signaling the end of the conversation. "Don't you have something to say?" She remembered the sliver of kiwi she was holding and popped it into her mouth.

"Oh yeah. I found out I can do something...just watch." Natasha turned towards the Fulbright mailbox, leapt forward, backflipped backwards, somersaulted forward, and kicked at the wooden stake all in one breath. The stake snapped, and the mailbox trembled a moment before falling. Letters flew everywhere. She stooped to pick them up, watching Francine's reaction.

Francine stared, mouth open. The piece of kiwi fell from her lips and landed on her silvery skirt, but she brushed it away without notice. "That's my mailbox. We can't afford a carpenter, so you have to pay for that. How did you do that, anyway?"

"I don't know," replied Natasha, shrugging ambiguously. "But...I just have this feeling that something bad is going to happen to you**—**that's why I really came."

Francine smirked and tossed her head saucily. Her lovely hair fluttered and settled around her. "And what could happen to me?" she replied audaciously. "I'm fine."

Natasha shrugged stubbornly. "Just...promise me you'll be careful, all right?" Francine nodded vaguely, not even paying attention. She would regret it later.

* * *

As always, Francine gazed at the numbers on her hip as she bathed. For the first time she noticed that they didn't seem like tattoos, but thin scars. Burns, actually. Her fingers hovered over the pale skin, and she could feel heat radiating from them. Her fingertips tingled.

She stepped out of the bath and gazed in the mirror at her slender, lovely from. Her skin was milk**-**white, flawless and pearly. She never wore sunscreen because it she hated the smell and stickiness, but she never got sunburned or suntanned. And she didn't have freckles any more. On a whim, she climbed onto the toilet and stretched up so she could touch the light bulb. It was warm, but nothing more. There was a _bang,_ and the light bulb shattered.

Shivering suddenly, she got off and quickly dried herself off, yanking on her nightie before she could glance back at the scars and sweeping up the glass. But her blue**-**green eyes kept traveling back to her unhurt fingertips. She had touched a light bulb when she was three, and it had burned terribly. But she hadn't had these mysterious burns back then...had she? _What's happening to me?

* * *

_Francine blinked awake when she heard a knocking at her window. She was surrounded by objects which produced heat**—**including candles, flashlights, and matches. She found she could suck fire from one location and either distribute it into another and use it for warmth or energy. However, overusing it would make her pass out.

She tried to ignore it, but eventually it became too loud to ignore. "All right, all right, I'm coming," she mumbled, walking to the window. **"Nigel?!"** she cried, pushing the window open. "It's late. And couldn't you have at least used the door?"

"Your house is burning!" he snapped.

"It's **what?!"** she screamed, and turned to run towards the door. She flung it open, and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of smoke. "Oh man! Mum must have stayed up drinking. Russian vodka is 98% alcohol!"

Before he could even **try** to stop her, she had run out the door into the blaze.

* * *

Francine didn't bother to check the living room. She knew Marigold was dead. She sprinted through the blaze into David's room, where her little brother was sobbing on the bed as he tried to curl tight enough to escape the dancing flames.

David gasped as he saw the goddess or angel or whatever it was in the doorway. She looked like his sister, but that was impossible. She was supernaturally beautiful, her pale skin luminous, scarlet hair lustrous, her eyes two perfectly cut emeralds with long thick black lashes. The flames slipped off her harmlessly as she dashed forward, wrapping her slender arms around him. "F**–**Fanny?!" he choked out. Without speaking, she put a slim hand over his mouth against the smoke as she pulled them through the blaze and out of the house.

* * *

Nigel gasped as Francine appeared, clinging to her brother. Her nightie was singed, but there wasn't a harmed hair on her own body. David was sobbing when she let him go, but her expression was unreadable. She gazed first at her burning house, then at the cars. There were reporters, and Nigel's friends, and her friend Natasha, and David's friends, and families.

"Fanny, are you**—**" he laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away silently without glancing at him. He could see tears gleaming against her cheeks.

"Nigel, old boy, what in the world is going on?" his father cried, but he couldn't reply. He watched in a numb daze as Francine angrily told the reporters that a fire wasn't a circus side**-**show. She told lies as well**—**about having a father who was out**-**of**-**town at the moment and other things. There were no signs that she had just stepped out of the fire herself.

"Where will you go until your father gets back?" a reporter said. Half of them were terrified by her already, the other half were insulted that a teenager could speak to them as if they were the young ones.

"My brother will stay with his friend Lee, and I**—**" She trailed off. Natasha, like her, had only one parent, and her house barely fit her. Sonya, in fact, lived with David's friend Lee. (She wasn't, of course, aware of their underground fortress or anything like that)

"She can stay with me," said Nigel automatically, and his parents nodded quickly.

Another reporter lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow. She was young and pretty, with dewy skin and pneumatically enhanced breasts. "And you are...her boyfriend?"

Nigel and Francine blushed furiously, though it was mercifully imperceptible against the still**-**crackling flames. "No, I'm her next**-**door neighbor," Nigel replied crossly.

He glanced at Francine, wondering if she would speak. But she just gazed with her huge blue**-**green eyes as her house crumbled and everything she owned was consumed by the blaze.


End file.
